The baron comes back, p.12
The Baron Comes Back, page 12
He was standing over Mannering, his manner bitterly accusing. How much was genuine, how much feigned, Mannering could not know.
He said quietly: ‘There’s not a word of truth in what you say.’
‘What’s the point of denying it, we can prove it.’
Mannering said coolly: ‘Then prove it.’
Bristow raised a clenched hand, backed a pace as if to stop himself from using violence, and then said: ‘All right, I’ll talk to you at the Yard.’ He stepped towards the door, and Mannering realised that he was going to bring an officer in, to send him to the Yard under guard. It was not a moment for hesitating or trying to understand what was Bristow’s guiding motive, although he had a sickening feeling that Bristow had what he considered evidence to support his case.
He said: ‘The bluff won’t carry you, Bristow.’
‘I’m not bluffing,’ said Bristow. ‘And I’m not going to rely on 18B. You’ve been slippery for a long time, but you’ve made your mistake at last. You’ll enjoy the trial, Mannering, we’ll have every tittle of evidence against you in the past brought in, we’ll have the war off the headlines and the Baron in its place for a couple of days. You’ll be sent down for ten years at the least.’
Mannering said coldly: ‘All right, go ahead and damn yourself.’
Bristow swung round.
‘Why don’t you admit what you’ve been doing? Good God, do you think I want you sent down for this? You started in it to help someone else, you’ve been tricked and cheated yourself. If you’d only have the sense to tell the truth, tell us how you got your hands on the Collection, we could have saved you this.’
‘How I what?’ exclaimed Mannering.
‘How you got the Collection. I can’t understand you,’ Bristow added more slowly, ‘to walk out of your flat and leave it there—’
Mannering’s hands gripped the arms of his chair.
‘Leaving the Durand Collection at my flat?’ He stared at Bristow in consternation, his heart thumping and his mind racing as he tried to find some explanation of this absurdity. He had to battle with himself to keep his voice even, while he returned Bristow’s stare, narrow-eyed. ‘At my flat? No, Bill, no. It isn’t possible. I’ve never set eyes on it.’
Bristow said: ‘Tring and I and another officer went there after you left this morning. The whole Collection except for two Tears of Antoinette was in the false bottom of your wardrobe. Explain that away if you can. If you can,’ repeated Bristow heavily.
Mannering’s mind was all confusion for the next hour.
Bristow sent word to Charles Grant that Mannering was going with him to the Yard, and telephoned another message to Lorna that he would be delayed. With Tring as third, they went to the Yard, going straight up to Ffoulkes’ office.
Mannering’s eyes turned towards the small table at the Assistant Commissioner’s side.
On it was displayed a collection of precious stones rarely seen in one place. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, so many that the eye could not take them in.
Ffoulkes said: ‘And you’ve always thought you were clever, Mannering.’
Mannering spoke with an effort.
‘You know I’m not that kind of a fool. If they were found at my flat, I didn’t put them there.’
‘I’d almost like to believe it,’ said Ffoulkes. Mannering stood in front of him, realising more fully the urgency and the danger. ‘I thought you were in this for Leonora Drake’s sake, that you had some fool idea of being a Sir Galahad to a helpless maiden.’ Ffoulkes shrugged. ‘I thought you would come to realise that you had to tell me the truth, if only to find how Baptiste and the others came into the country. I know now why you couldn’t do that.’
He looked at the jewels.
Mannering said: ‘I’ve told you everything I can about their illegal entry.’ He walked towards the table, putting a hand out to lift one of the jewels.
At once Ffoulkes snapped: ‘Don’t touch them!’
‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Mannering. He lifted a Tear of Antoinette. ‘Have you the other one, Bristow?’
Bristow nodded.
‘Let me have a look at it.’ After a pause in which Bristow and Ffoulkes exchanged glances, Bristow took a wash-leatherbag from his pocket and extracted the Tear.
Mannering took it carefully, then placed it next to the one on the table, feeling an intensity of relief which made his voice unsteady.
‘You may have found that stuff in my flat,’ he said, ‘although I didn’t put it there, and didn’t know it was there. But you haven’t found the Durand Collection. All of this is paste or imitation, there isn’t a genuine stone among them. Even you should see the difference,’ he added sardonically, and pointed to the fire scintillating from the diamond Bristow had given him, a brilliance which put the rest of the jewels into shade.
Chapter Sixteen
Unknown Enemy
Lorna inserted a key in the door of Mannering’s flat and stood aside for Lucille to enter. The two women stepped in, and Lorna called: ‘John!’
There was no answer.
Lucille demanded tensely: ‘Why hasn’t he returned, Lorna, why does he have to leave us like this?’
‘He hasn’t gone deliberately,’ Lorna said. ‘I don’t know who sent the message this morning, but if it was John he would have tried to ring again.’ She paused. ‘There were police watching outside.’
‘Those two men we saw?’ Lucille grew angry. ‘It does not matter where I go, always I am followed.’
Lorna shrugged, and switched on an electric fire in the lounge. It was chilly, while the rain beat heavily against the windows.
They had been there half an hour when they heard footsteps on the landing. Lucille was at the door first, opening it quickly. Lorna’s eyes were glowing as she prepared to greet Mannering, and then her expression altered.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Lucille. ‘It is you.’
Charles Grant looked at them, his face expressionless.
‘Is Captain Mannering in?’
‘No,’ said Lorna. ‘He hasn’t been back since he left with you this morning.’
‘Odd,’ said Grant. ‘I—er—I’d like to wait for him, if I may. You’ve heard, of course?’
‘Heard? Of what?’
Grant said in a stiff voice: ‘So you haven’t.’ There was a strange, rather unhappy silence, and then he told them what had happened at Hatton Garden.
Lucille interrupted him several times, and when he finished, stood with her back to the fire, her hands clenched at her sides.
‘And you think it is my fault. Oh, mon Dieu, why did I have to bring those jewels? I thought I was acting for the best, you must believe that! I had no idea that death would follow. You must believe me!’ Her voice broke as she took a step towards Grant. ‘You must not blame me!’
Grant said harshly: ‘Don’t talk nonsense. It’s not your fault, it’s the fault of the swine who killed him. But why should he be killed, why should anyone want him dead? If it were robbery I could understand it, but it wasn’t, the jewels were there. Dad couldn’t have been dead for half an hour, if I’d gone earlier I might have—’
‘You would have done but for me,’ Lucille cried.
‘I wouldn’t have gone to the shop at all today if it hadn’t been for you, I would have left him this morning and known nothing about it until the police called me.’
Grant dropped heavily into an easy chair.
‘It was all so damnably easy for the swine. There’s a back entrance to the office, often used for private calls. Father would have admitted the man who did it, he—it must have been someone who knew him, he would only see people that way by appointment.’
Lorna said: ‘Do the police know that?’
‘Oh yes. They’re making inquiries, but no one at the shop knew that he had a visitor until Netley came.’ He drummed his hands on the arm of the chair. ‘I can’t talk to the police, they’re so damnably formal. I was hoping Captain Mannering would be here.’
‘He can’t be much longer,’ Lorna said, and almost on her words a key scraped on the door.
Mannering paused on the threshold, blinking in the light.
‘John,’ said Lorna. There was a brief silence, and then Mannering smiled, reassuringly confident.
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Lucille. ‘Why did you desert us like that?’
Mannering said: ‘A misunderstanding with the police, cherie. Some gentleman unknown planted a complete set of imitation jewels here for the police to find. They thought it was the genuine Collection.’ He chuckled, but Lorna saw the strain on his face and knew that he was worried more than he was likely to admit.
‘It isn’t possible!’ Lucille said flatly.
‘It happened,’ said Mannering.
Grant exclaimed: ‘Why on earth should they do that to you?’
‘At a guess because they’d prefer me in jail,’ said Mannering, ‘and they damned near got me there. I still don’t know why Ffoulkes and Bristow decided to let me out, they had a case for arrest all right.’
Lorna said, apparently apropos of nothing: ‘It’s Wednesday.’
Mannering looked at her, ignoring Grant and Lucille. ‘Tomorrow’s Thursday, yes.’
‘They are to be married,’ said Lucille. ‘Lorna told me.’
Grant exclaimed: ‘Oh my God, what a foul mess!’
‘A mess it is,’ admitted Mannering, ‘but we’ll get clear.’ Something about him told Lorna that he wanted to speak to Grant alone. She responded at once, and herded Lucille into the kitchen.
As the door closed, Grant looked at him sharply. ‘You are trying to tell me something, aren’t you?’
Mannering said bluntly: ‘You must forgive me if I rush things a bit, but time’s running out. Your father had one of the Tears in his hand when he died, and one possible inference is obvious. I think the police have taken it. He knew where the rest of the Collection was.’
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Grant. ‘I’d no idea.’ He paused blankly, then went on: ‘I just can’t keep pace with events.’
‘I can’t see any other reason for his death,’ Mannering said, ‘except that he knew where the Collection was, and who had it. He was in the market for the Collection, with both Mortimer and Netley.’
Grant said: ‘I’ve never liked that man.’
‘He doesn’t appeal to me,’ admitted Mannering, ‘but that doesn’t make him party to murder. I don’t doubt the police will be showing an interest in him, and he’ll have a good alibi whether he was involved or not. But you can see the next development, can’t you?’
‘I don’t follow you,’ admitted Grant.
‘You will. The man who killed your father wanted time to make plans, wanted to get the police concentrating on the wrong angle. So he left the fake Collection here before committing the crime. The police were quick to find that, but made the mistake of being too sure of themselves. They didn’t check the gems. Your father was killed because he knew who had the Collection, and might talk.’
‘And so the police suspected you?’
‘Precisely,’ said Mannering. ‘Anyhow, you don’t need more telling of the connection between your problem and mine. You want the man who killed your father, I want the man who tried to frame me; it’s almost certainly one and the same. We could take the straightforward line and tell the police about Lucille, but it might not bring any quicker results and it would be awkward for Lucille.’
‘We mustn’t do that,’ Grant said abruptly.
‘There’s the risk that Lucille hasn’t told all the truth,’ said Mannering. ‘She may be more deeply involved than we think, but provided she is the real Lucille Durand we can be pretty sure that she wants to get the Collection back, if nothing else.’
‘You don’t seriously doubt her, surely,’ said Grant. The idea seemed to shock him.
‘Not as much as I did,’ said Mannering, ‘but I’d give a lot to be sure that she really is Lucille.’
‘She is.’ Grant was emphatic. ‘I remember seeing her in Paris, with Leonora.’
‘We want more than that,’ said Mannering. ‘That’s a job I’d like you to handle, Grant, if you can. There must be plenty of people in London who knew the Durands in Paris. Will you try to locate one?’
‘I’ll look after it,’ Grant assured him. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I think I’d like a talk with Mortimer,’ said Mannering, ‘and a gentleman named Penrose. Penrose lives at Putney, where Mortimer and your father were to meet. Does the name strike a chord?’
‘No,’ said Grant, after reflection. ‘I don’t remember hearing it. He was talking to Mortimer on the ‘phone. He said he’d be there by ten o’clock and jotted down the address. It was a house in Putney, halfway up the hill.’
‘“Watchett”?’ asked Mannering.
‘Well, I’m damned! Yes, that was it.’
Mannering knew that the prospect of having something to do had helped the other, and Grant was eager to start. Mannering saw him to the door, saying as he went out: ‘Remember the police might be interested in you too, Grant. Keep your inquiries as quiet as possible. I’ll find out what I can about the Putney house.’
Grant smiled confidently and hurried down the stairs, while Mannering returned to the lounge.
Lucille eyed him coldly.
‘Is it necessary for you to keep so many secrets from us?’
Mannering smiled. ‘Yes, cherie, and you’ve taught me how to keep them.’
‘Pig!’ exclaimed Lucille.
But Lorna was in no mood to be amused.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Puzzle the police,’ said Mannering promptly. ‘Bristow and Ffoulkes are wondering if I hit Grant too hard in a scuffle. I’m free, but on a long rope. The killer isn’t likely to lose a chance of tightening it. I’m Bristow’s target, and it’s up to me to provide an alternative one.’
Lorna saw the sense of it, but it made her even more uneasy than she had been before.
When they had gone, Mannering looked out of the window, to see a plain-clothes policeman following them. Tring was also in the street watching the flat.
Bristow would probably be with Mortimer; the police must see the inferences as clearly as he had done, acknowledging the possibility, even probability, that Grant had been killed because he knew where the Collection was.
It was seven o’clock, and growing dusk, when the telephone rang.
Grant was on the other end of die wire, excited and pleased. He had been given a full description of Lucille Durand by a friend, and there was no reasonable doubt that their Lucille was genuine. The friend had a photograph somewhere, and was trying to find it. As soon as it turned up he would telephone again. The police had been watching him all the evening, but had asked no further questions.
‘Now what else can I do?’ Grant asked.
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m at home, at Grey Street.’
‘Right. I’ll telephone you later. If I want you to meet me near Putney, as I might, you’ll have to get away from the house without being followed. It’ll probably be in about an hour’s time, before the moon’s up.’
‘I’ll be waiting.’
Mannering rang off, then nodded to himself decisively. He knew that the flat opposite was empty, and taking a key from his key-case opened the door and went in. Going to the telephone he dialled an Aldgate number.
A man’s cultured voice answered him. It was that of Flick Leverson, whom Mannering had known for years as a fence, and who knew the Baron’s identity. Between Leverson and Mannering there was a friendship based on a deep love of jewels, and there was real pleasure in Leverson’s voice after Mannering had made himself known.
‘Are you on leave, John? Because if you’ve an hour to spare—’
Mannering interrupted: ‘I’m on leave and in a devil of a mess, Flick. Have you heard any rumours about the Durand Collection?’
There was a short silence. When Leverson spoke again there was a sharper note in his voice: ‘You’re not back at the old game?’
Mannering chuckled.
‘You could say I’d been shanghaied into it, Flick. I’ll tell you more when I see you. Meanwhile, have you heard anything of the Durand Collection?’
‘Yes,’ said Leverson. ‘I’ve been told that Durand’s daughter and Champbourcy brought it to England, or were bringing it. No more than a rumour.’
‘Do you know of an old man named Penrose?’
Leverson’s voice rose sharply.
‘I do indeed, and if you are wise you’ll have nothing to do with him, John. He’s unreliable and’—Leverson paused—‘he’ll buy at a price.’
‘That’s what I expected,’ said Mannering, a rising note of gaiety in his voice. ‘Can you get me everything I’ll need for tonight if I call for it in half an hour?’
‘I can, but I don’t know whether I should,’ said Leverson. ‘If you slip up you’ll pay heavily, John.’
‘I won’t slip.’
‘All right,’ Leverson promised. ‘I’ll have all you need ready. Will you want to change here?’
‘May I?’
‘Yes, I’ll arrange it. We’d better use call-boxes for phoning after this. I suppose your line’s all right?’
‘I’m not sure, I’m ringing from another flat.’ Leverson chuckled. ‘You don’t change much.’ Mannering replaced the receiver and returned to his flat, humming under his breath. Then he put on his great-coat and gave him a discreet hail.
‘Hello, Tanker! I’m getting married tomorrow. What’s in your mind as a present?’
Tring grunted and Mannering went on to Piccadilly. He stopped at the top of a subway for some seconds, seeing Tring’s shadowy figure behind him, then went down the stairs.
